


You Hold In You What I Had Lost

by Finduilas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Confused Steve Rogers, Domestic Avengers, Dreams, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, M/M, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Recurring Dreams, Romantic Gestures, Slow Dancing, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, mention of Peggy Carter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/pseuds/Finduilas
Summary: Steve has recurring dreams of dancing with Peggy, like they once promised they would. The dreams keep coming, but at some point the person Steve is dancing with stops being Peggy...
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 169





	You Hold In You What I Had Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sagasimon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagasimon/gifts).



> For Mako, who dreamed this fic into existence. ;) 
> 
> Many thanks to Gemma for the beta and the feedback.

Sunlight peeks through the crack between the drapes as Steve rolls onto his back, eyes still closed as arms flop down on the mattress beside him. He lets out a satisfied hum. If he concentrates he can still hear the music, feel the sway of Peggy’s body in his arms, the way she rests her head against his collar bone. Just for another second, before the pull of reality comes back to him and the dancefloor fades, the smell of rosewater eau de toilette disappears and his arms are empty. 

The absence doesn’t ache, not anymore. It has become part of Steve’s routine. He can’t count the times he has woken up with the memory of the dream in his head, always the same. Steve doesn’t feel sad anymore. It gives him a warm, content feeling. A constant in his life, no matter how crazy and different it has become. Awakening to the knowledge that Peggy and him have been dancing all night makes him feel… happy somehow. It isn’t real, a dream is just a dream, but the feeling is palpable and that is enough for Steve. 

Sometimes Steve wakes up and he just has a lingering feeling, nothing more. Sometimes he can remember the song, remember the smile tugging at Peggy’s lips when Steve fumbles one of his steps. Occasionally they talk, other times they just dance in silence. Every once in a while Peggy kisses him. Other times she just rests her head against his chest, eyes closed, hand safely wrapped in his. Sometimes the dance floor is packed and they’re shuffling along to the upbeat rhythm of the band. Sometimes it’s just the two of them, slow music coming out of nowhere, and they barely even move, just hold each other. 

Steve doesn’t think much about the dreams as he goes about his daily life, doesn’t always think about it when he goes to bed, but it’s always a nice feeling when he wakes up. The perfect dance with the perfect person. It’s a dream, literally and figuratively. But it’s comforting and it makes Steve happy. 

***

“Stay on your feet,” Steve calls out, pulling back a little bit, “You lose balance, you lose the fight.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Tony grumbles, recovering as he plants his bare feet firmly onto the mat again. 

“I don’t know what your next move is going to be any more than you know mine, Tony,” Steve says, taking a swing that Tony ducks just in time. 

“Yeah, right,” Tony snorts, his fist flying out only to be blocked by Steve’s arm, “This is all like a well rehearsed dance for you or something.” 

“Then do something I won’t expect,” Steve advises, blocking another one of Tony’s hits, “Catch me off guard.” 

“Sure,” Tony says as he rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat behind his word. “And why don’t I just solve the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture while I’m at it?”

“If anyone can do it...” Steve smiles, even though he has no idea what it is exactly that Tony is talking about. Not for the first time in his life. 

“Don’t mock me,” Tony says, a small bead of sweat making its way down his temple as they continue sparring. 

“I’m not,” Steve says, suddenly afraid that he’s somehow insulted Tony, but then Tony drops down to a one-legged crouch as the other swings out and hooks around Steve’s ankle with enough force and momentum to make Steve lose his balance. He sways for a second, puts his outstretched hand onto the mat to catch himself and then Tony launches himself at Steve, throwing his entire weight onto him as Steve topples over onto his back, Tony panting heavily on top of him. 

“I could do it,” Tony says, grinning a few inches above Steve’s face, “It’s just, who even has the time?” 

“What?” Steve asks, confused. He could push Tony off easily, roll him over and pin him down onto the mat in retaliation. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t. Then Tony’s weight is off him as he sits back on his knees, seemingly lost in thought already. 

“Maybe if I ever take a long holiday or something, and get bored,” Tony says, pondering out loud, “Math problems have a way of relaxing me.” 

“Right,” Steve says, amused, because isn’t that just so Tony? “Beats a cocktail by the beach every time.” 

“And when was the last time you took some vacation time, huh?” Tony asks, reaching out his hand to pull Steve up. “Went sightseeing? Had a little holiday romance?” He quirks his eyebrow at Steve.

“I went to see the Eiffel Tower once,” Steve says, dusting imaginary dirt off his workout clothes. “Took in some of the European countryside too.” 

“War is not a holiday, Steve,” Tony says, rotating his shoulder to maybe work out some of the kinks. 

“You gotta appreciate the little things, Tony,” Steve smirks, just for the sake of being contrary. It’s fun to yank Tony’s chains a little bit. 

***

The music slowly ebbs away as a murmur of voices flows over it. Steve grunts a little bit, pressing his body deeper into the couch, trying to hang onto the movement of the dance just a little while longer. But it’s no use. Peggy’s soft whispers are slowly replaced by Clint and Thor arguing over something food related - Steve’s brain hasn’t quite caught up yet - as they come close and become louder, and then there’s Natasha’s hard hush as he can feel their presence in the room. 

“Shut up, Steve’s sleeping,” Natasha’s voice is accompanied by a smack and a muffled ‘oww’ by Clint and Steve carefully pries his eyes open. 

“‘m up,” he mumbles, the last remnants of Peggy’s body pressed against his fading away. 

“Captain,” Thor asks solemnly, “Do you have knowledge as to who has deprived me of the last of my pop tarts?” 

“I  _ swear _ it wasn’t me,” Clint calls out before Steve can even answer, which is as much of a confession as anything. 

The two start arguing again and Steve pushes himself upright on the couch, putting a bookmark in the book that lay folded open on his stomach. 

“Trying to take a nap on the communal floor with Thor and Clint around is a lost cause,” Tony says with a smile from where he’s observing Steve by the doorframe. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, placing his book on the coffee table in front of him before running his fingers through his hair to flatten a bit of his bed hair. “I wasn’t actually planning on falling asleep anyway. Must’ve dozed off.” 

“Reading’ll do that to you,” Tony winks, then watches as Thor and Clint make their way towards the kitchen - still bickering - followed by Natasha who just seems amused by the whole thing. “Wanna know a secret?” Tony asks as the others are out of view, making his way over to the couch where Steve is sitting. His voice is low as he leans towards Steve a little bit. Steve leans back in response. “I ate the last pop tart,” Tony whispers with a smirk. 

Steve can’t help the smile that spreads over his face. “Thor will have your head.” 

“He’ll never know,” Tony says confidently, “JARVIS got rid of the evidence.” 

“You just confessed to me though,” Steve says slyly. “How do you know I won’t just spill the beans for the promise of some Asgardian Ale?” 

“Hah,” Tony says as he gets up again and gives Steve a look. “You’d never betray me.” 

His tone is light but the words sit with Steve. As Tony walks away towards the kitchen, Steve knows that no, he never would. 

***

Steve feels warm and safe as he tightens his arms a little bit. The music still lingers in his ears, the soft pressure in his arms comforting and familiar. He lets out a small hum, but he isn’t sure if it happens in his dream or in real life. The two worlds are still blended together, though spiralling quickly as the body pressed against his goes from firmer than he’s used to to much softer like… like his pillow. Steve squeezes as he blinks his eyes open a few times, tugging the pillow firmer against his chest. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp air of his bedroom but there’s a smell that lingers in his nose, one he can’t quite place. It isn’t sweet and rosy like he’s expecting, instead more spiced with an undertone of something else. Something he knows, something his body reacts to in a pleasant way but something his brain can’t quite place yet. 

Steve shakes it off as his alarm starts blaring, reminding him it’s time to go for his morning run if he wants to be back in time for his scheduled meeting with Fury. He has a feeling he’ll need to work off some anticipated frustration beforehand. 

It’s only later, after lunch with Natasha and some sketching of the skyline out on the balcony, that Steve finds himself in Tony’s workshop, asked about his opinion on a new prototype of Bites - similar to Widow’s - to add to his gloves. 

“I’m just not sure I’m comfortable adding any kind of firepower to my uniform,” Steve muses, carefully studying the hologram JARVIS is projecting in front of him. 

“The enemy isn’t shooting at you with cotton candy though, Cap,” Tony says, flattening a piece of metal on his work bench as he hits it repeatedly with a hammer. 

“I know,” Steve says, a little bit conflicted. The design looks good - like everything Tony conjures up - but he doesn’t know if he wants it. 

“And it’s not like you’ve never picked up a gun when needed,” Tony continues, wiping his brow with his shirtless arm before putting down the hammer on the work bench in front of him. Steve steals a quick glance before turning back to the hologram.

“I know, it’s just…” Steve says, spinning the blue design around with his finger. It’s still weird to Steve. It feels like he should be able to touch something but he doesn’t, and yet the hologram moves exactly the way his fingers indicate. 

“You don’t want anything offensive as a standard put into your uniform,” Tony puts Steve’s thoughts into words for him, and doesn’t mock him for it. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Tony understands. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says nevertheless, shoulders slumped, “I know you put a lot of work into it…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says reassuringly, swiping his hand through the blue projection and the hologram disappears into thin air. “I’ll think more in terms of defense instead. I can do that.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says and he can already see the gears in Tony’s head spinning. 

“Can you hold this for a second?” Tony asks, lifting up a panel on one of his robots and holding out something that looks a lot like a motor. 

“Sure,” Steve takes a few steps forward, following Tony’s lead and holding up the various pieces Tony hands him in exactly the right place. 

“Just one more…” Tony mutters as his fingers play with the sprockets inside the mechanism, “Just…” He points towards a black bottle just out of his reach and Steve picks it up and hands it to him. The bottle is a little bit greasy on the outside, laying a film of something oily over his skin, and as Steve rubs his fingertips together he can almost hear this morning’s song making its way to him again, just out of reach. He freezes for a second as the smell reaches his nose and his brain finally catches up. 

***

Steve wakes with a start, the dream dissolving like a burst balloon, his chest tightened by the sudden realization. He can hear his ears pop as he swallows heavily, his fingers curling in a fist around nothing. Two minutes ago it wasn’t nothing, not in his dream. His right hand splayed over a broad back, his left wound securely around warm fingers, resting over his heart. The song playing was Moonlight Serenade and the person swaying gently against him wasn’t Peggy. 

Steve stares up at the ceiling, blaming his confusion on lingering sleep. There is nowhere to lay the blame for his guilty feeling, even though he knows it’s irrational. The perfect dance with the perfect person and isn’t it supposed to be Peggy? 

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He tries to conjure up the scent of rose water in his head but all his brain offers is coffee and a spiced eau de cologne. Maybe a hint of oil and metal.

“Fuck…” Steve breathes out, placing a hand on his chest. It’s as if he can still feel the body pressed against it, how good it made him feel. “ _ Fuck _ ,” Steve mutters again as he sits up with a jolt, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

_ Tony.  _

“JARVIS?” Steve calls out, before he realizes that he has absolutely no idea what to ask him. 

“Yes, Captain?” JARVIS answers dutifully. 

“Nothing,” Steve mutters, his cheeks heating up, “Sorry.” 

He gets up on his feet, trying to shake the dream off. 

“That’s quite alright, Sir,” JARVIS says, his tone friendly and reassuring as ever. “Please do let me know if I can help you with something, Captain.” JARVIS goes on after a small pause in which Steve starts pacing around the room. 

“Of course,” Steve says automatically, trying to hit a tone that is casual and everything he’s not feeling right now. “Thank you.” 

JARVIS doesn’t reply again, and Steve wonders if maybe he should ask him to pull up some of those yoga instruction videos Natasha has been telling him about. Or was it pilates? Steve hasn’t quite figured out the difference between the two. 

There’s a reason it’s Tony, Steve tells himself as he makes his way towards the bathroom. They’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. Steve has been insisting on doing group activities to strengthen their cohesiveness, and Tony has been attending. Tony will come out of his workshop and switch his Stark Industries schedules around to make time for them. He’s been really good at it lately, because he knows Steve appreciates it, and when Steve thanks him for it, Tony smiles. Not the fake one he reserves for the press or benefactors at galas, but the actual, genuine one that reaches his eyes and Steve kinda loves seeing. 

If Steve is supposed to be the group’s leader, Tony is most definitely his right hand man, his number two, the one that balances him out perfectly. It’s no wonder he’s been on Steve’s mind. It doesn’t mean anything that he has seeped into Steve’s dreams, it makes perfect sense. That’s the way dreams work: a culmination of things that happen during the day, coming together and expressing themselves in weird subconscious ways. It doesn’t actually mean anything else.

Steve looks down to see the toothpaste on his toothbrush and he isn’t quite sure when he put it on there. He shakes his head slightly, pushing thoughts of Tony and the dream out of his head. But not before a certain warmth spreads through Steve’s chest again, the realization of how much Steve enjoyed that dance. 

***

A week goes by and Steve has his recurring dream three more times. All three times he wakes up blissful and content, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest, an exciting tingle on his skin. 

All three times he tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. 

All three times he dreams of Tony. 

***

It’s not that Steve doesn’t like big events - even though admittedly he’d rather just spend the evening in sweats, watching a movie with his friends by his side - it’s that he usually feels awkward and out of place at them. High class events are definitely not the kind of thing Steve grew up around, and once he became Captain America he always felt like a showpony being paraded around for the benefit of everyone else. 

This is the Maria Stark Foundation’s annual fundraising gala though, so even if Steve doesn’t feel one hundred percent at ease there is no way he is going to miss it. They’re here in support of Tony, and on top of that it’s for charity so Steve has no trouble donning his dress uniform and smiling at the benefactors or posing for the press. 

Neither do any of the other Avengers and Steve has to admit that they all clean up very nicely. Most surprisingly probably is Thor, who clearly followed someone’s - most likely Natasha’s, though it could be Hill’s - fashion advice and is wearing a perfectly fitted all black tuxedo, his hair pulled back in French braids. If Steve didn’t already know this man was a God, he thinks that he could still make an educated guess when he came out looking like that. 

“Has anybody told us that we are a group of stunningly gorgeous people?” Tony asks as he sidles up to Steve’s side, a drink in his hand. 

“You, about ten times since we left the Tower,” Natasha says with a smile, taking the drink smoothly from his hand. Tony lets her. 

“Doesn’t mean you’re wrong though,” Clint grins, highlighting his words by adjusting his tie a little bit. Steve can’t help but smile at the way he actually pulls it lop-sided. 

“I’d be mad at you guys for stealing my thunder,” Tony says with a smug smile, “But I honestly can’t.” His gaze sweeps over all of them one by one, accompanied by a sly smirk. “I’d bed every last one of you if I was still that kind of guy.” 

“My heart is broken that we missed the window,” Bruce says, deadpan, drawing a laugh out of all of them. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Tony says with a wink. 

“I’d tell you to stop drinking but this, surprisingly, has no alcohol in it,” Natasha says after taking a sip of the drink she just stole out of Tony’s hand. Steve shoots Tony an encouraging smile. 

“What can I say?” Tony says, drawing out his words for effect, “You make me wanna be a better man, Romanoff.” 

“Right,” Natasha snorts, giving Tony a knowing look, “ _ I’m _ the one that does that.” 

Tony just purses his lips together in reply, his gaze fixed on her. It seems like they’re having an entire conversation just in that moment and Steve has no idea what’s going on, which gives him a funny feeling in his stomach. 

It passes just as quickly as it came, because the hors-d'oeuvres are being carried around - Thor takes an entire platter off the server’s hands and Steve tries not to laugh at the way the server is clearly either too afraid or too impressed to object - and when all of the attendants have arrived the music halts as Tony gets up on stage and delivers his speech. 

Tony looks like he belongs on stage; he’s quick and charming, his whole presence a performance. He thanks everybody for coming, explains briefly why it is they are all here, tells a touching yet not- _ too _ -personal story about his mother, and a few quips to bring the mood back up. Tony has a way of making everybody feel at home, of making everybody feel special for being there, and yet Steve is happy that he can see through the media-polished persona and see the real Tony. There was a time when he couldn’t and he can’t imagine going back to that. 

When Tony steps off the stage again - easily having ensured another dozen very charitable donations - the band starts playing again and people begin to gather on the dance floor. The music is classy but modern, nothing like the music in Steve’s recurring dreams. Bruce extends a hand to Natasha, who gracefully takes it and follows Bruce onto the dance floor. 

“Beat me to it,” Clint mutters as he stuffs another amuse-bouche into his mouth. 

“I believe there is a Midgardian saying that explains that if you go to sleep, you are deprived of your prize,” Thor tells him. 

Clint gapes at him with a confused frown. 

“You snooze, you lose,” Tony helpfully supplies in translation before turning to Steve and holding out his hand. “What do you say, Captain?” Tony asks, so casually, so breezily, that it takes Steve entirely by surprise, “Will you do me the honor?” 

The music that’s playing is modern, so Steve knows he’s not dreaming and it throws him for a loop. Tony’s hand stays outstretched for what seems like an eternity to Steve’s halted brain, yet it can’t be that long because his smile doesn’t falter. Steve’s heartbeat picks up, his mouth suddenly feels like he’s swallowed dry clay, and all he can do is stare at Tony: Tony, who is looking beautiful and classy and who is looking at Steve like he’s the only person in the room. 

It doesn’t mean anything, Steve tells himself, but his brain doesn’t believe it. Because why else would he be panicking right now? And why on earth  _ is _ he panicking? It doesn’t make any sense. 

“Steve?” Tony asks, the smile on his face finally faltering, making way for a furrowed brow. 

“I can’t.” The words leave Steve’s mouth without permission and he hates himself a little bit for it. 

There’s a flicker of…  _ something _ that flashes over Tony’s face before Tony composes his nonchalance again and all but rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Steve, chill. It’s just a dance,” he says, and he’s not meeting Steve’s eyes anymore. 

But a dance is not just a dance. 

It doesn’t mean anything, Steve tells himself once more, but it means everything. A dance is the thing he couldn’t have with Peggy, the absolute representation of the longing, the missed chances, the love. A dance is intimate and personal and it  _ does  _ mean something. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve hears himself mutter as he clocks the nearest exit and makes his way towards it. 

He doesn’t hear if anyone is calling after him, the sound of the music ringing too loudly in his ears. Deep down, Steve knows that he wanted to say yes. 

***

The universe mocks Steve, or at least his subconscious does by supplying him with yet another dream of him standing on a dance floor, arms curved protectively around Tony, both of them rocking gently to the music. Steve’s cheek is resting against Tony’s temple, perfectly content. Tony is humming along to the music, the vibrations in his chest flowing over to Steve’s. 

“This is nice,” Steve whispers, tilting his head a little bit to bury his nose into Tony’s hair. Tony smells like safety.

“This is better than nice,” Tony whispers back, and then he’s pulling his head back just a little bit, just enough to -

Steve wakes up before Tony’s lips find his. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He groans in frustration as he gets up out of bed and goes through his morning routine. He hopes maybe a cup of coffee will help him shake things off, but of course he stumbles onto Tony, Clint, and Natasha in the communal kitchen. He should really learn to keep supplies in his own - barely used - kitchen. 

“Look who’s up, our very own Cinderella,” Tony says, his tone light but his stare anything but. 

“No, see, Cinderella stayed for the dance, didn’t she?” Clint comments, and Steve considers doing a U-turn and hauling ass out of there. It’s only his innate stubbornness that stops him from doing so.

“True,” Tony hums, but he seems to take a little bit of pity on Steve - Steve isn’t sure he deserves it - as he gets up and pours Steve a cup of coffee. It’s their morning routine and Steve accepts the cup with what he hopes is a grateful look. 

For a split second Steve thinks maybe that’s the end of it and they’ll move on and things won’t be unbearably awkward for the rest of the day. 

“So what’s the deal, Cap?” Tony asks then, and Steve’s hope disappears before it fully manifests itself, “You don’t know how to dance?” 

“Didn’t they teach you that in the army?” Clint asks, chewing loudly on his breakfast cereal. 

“We were busy fighting Nazis, Clint,” Steve says, “Not teaching them the Lindy Hop.” 

“The whatty what now?” Clint asks, confused, his mouth full. 

“I’ve seen you dance,” Natasha oh so helpfully supplies, regarding Steve like she’s on a mission. 

“Nat…” Steve sighs, not entirely sure what he is even supposed to say anymore. Everything his mind comes up with sounds wrong and he isn’t even sure he has an explanation to begin with.

“Okay, okay…” Tony says, holding out his arms as if he’s trying to calm everyone down, “Lets not turn this into the third degree.” 

“Thanks,” Steve mutters as Natasha gets up and taps Clint on the shoulder, gesturing for them to go. 

Clint protests for a second, before chugging the rest of his cereal down in one go and following Natasha out. Steve picks up his discarded bowl and spoon and puts them in the dishwasher before going to sit down at the table with his cup. He inhales the hot steam, embraces the smell. 

“I’m a good dancer, you know,” Tony says faux-casual as he sits down across from Steve. 

_ I know _ , is what Steve wants to say but he doesn’t. Not really. “I thought we weren’t going to turn this into an interrogation,” is what he says instead, ignoring the way his stomach tightens. 

“I’m just saying,” Tony says, “You missed out on something.” 

“I’m sure I did,” Steve mutters, and it comes out a whole lot more dismissive than Steve actually means for it to but it’s too late to take back.

“Okay,” Tony says, a definite sharp edge to his voice now, “So what then? Did you just go all ‘no homo’ on me? For real?” 

“ _ Tony… _ ” Steve sighs, rubbing his fingers over his eyes in frustration. 

“Which I could almost forgive because I know you were basically born in the Stone Age and it was a different time then,” Tony goes on, a certain bite to his voice, “Except that I really kind of can’t, because it’s a shitty thing to do no matter what your excuse is, and I really thought that the great Captain America of all people would have the decency not to - ”

“Tony, no.  _ God, no _ ,” Steve says hurriedly, shaking his head, “That’s not - I don’t - ” He stammers, makes a frustrated grunted noise at himself as he slaps his fist down on the table. He’s doing a stellar job with the words this morning and he could really kick himself for it. 

“Yeah…” Tony sighs, locking eyes with Steve for a second, “I guess it was just me then.” 

Steve wants to protest, wants to say something, he really does. Because the hurt in Tony’s eyes is visible and it feels like a knife to Steve’s gut. But the words won’t make it out, because Steve doesn’t know how to explain, can’t even put a label on his own feelings so how on earth can he try and have it make sense to Tony? He doesn’t know how it happened that Peggy, who was always the star in his dreams, the lost love of his life, the eternal longing of his heart… suddenly made place in those dreams for Tony. That Tony’s the one he’s holding and Tony’s the one that’s humming along with the music and Tony’s the one who now fits so perfectly in his arms? He doesn’t know when Tony went from being someone he constantly argued with to his friend to… whatever it is that made him dominate Steve’s subconscious.

Steve doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s taking too long to say something,  _ anything _ , and Tony is pushing himself away from the table with a look on his face that absolutely crushes him, and Steve is the only one to blame. 

“Right,” Tony mutters, defeated, and makes his way out of the kitchen. 

Steve lets him. 

***

The mattress is too soft and the pillow too fluffy and the sheets too crisp and everything just feels wrong as Steve stares up at the ceiling. 

Tony hasn’t talked to him since the incident in the kitchen and Steve can’t blame him. He doesn’t particularly like his own company either right now. Except Steve doesn't have a workshop to hide in from himself. 

He closes his eyes and tries to conjure up an image of Tony. It comes surprisingly easy. Tony is bright and colorful, smiling at Steve as if Steve deserves his smile. 

Objectively, Tony Stark is a beautiful man. He’s got intensely warm eyes and nicely shaped lips. He’s got a cutting jawline, accentuated by the styling of his perfect goatee. He’s got soft-looking, thick hair that almost invites you to run fingers through. Nice broad dependable shoulders. Hands that look rough and soft at the same time. Objectively he’s been People’s Most Sexiest Man Alive three times. 

In a not so objective way, Steve likes the way the crinkles around Tony’s eyes look when he smiles,  _ really _ smiles. Or the way his eyes go soft when he stares into nothing when he’s too tired to function properly but still refuses to go to bed. Steve likes the way Tony doesn’t like to be handed things by people but will still rest his hand on top of Steve’s arm when he casually asks him for his opinion. He likes the way that touch is somehow never unwelcome when it comes from Tony. 

Objectively, Steve and Tony would make a really bad couple. Wouldn’t they? 

Steve takes a deep breath as the thought invades his mind. He wants to argue even though there’s nobody there to argue with. He’s fighting himself on this and he doesn’t even know why. All Tony offered was a dance, and Steve’s brain went and ran with it. Doesn’t that say more about Steve than it does about Tony? 

***

The dreams keep coming and it keeps being Tony. Tony. Tony. Steve keeps being torn between not wanting to ever sleep again and not wanting to get out of bed at all. 

That last one isn’t an option when the Avengers alarm rings out through the Tower at 5 AM and Steve jumps out of bed and into his uniform in record time. The mission is short and relatively easy - Bruce got to stay on the Quinjet, not a Hulk in sight - and Steve is happy to see that he and Tony still work well together despite everything, anticipating each other’s moves, a smooth exchange of information and no crossed wires as to who gives out the orders. A well-oiled machine. 

It goes well, too well, so of course Steve has to go and mess it up again. He’s down in a crouch on the floor from where he punched the last bad guy’s lights out, and Tony comes to stand in front of him, face plate open and one gauntlet retracted when he holds out his hand to help Steve up. And Steve kind of freezes. He doesn’t know why - maybe it’s because he doesn’t think he deserves the gesture from Tony? Or that in doing so would give himself away? - but he waits too long and he can see Tony’s face fall right before the face plate comes down and the gauntlet engulfs his hand again. 

“Right,” Tony says, his voice metallic but somehow still small, and he walks away from Steve. 

“We need to talk.” Steve twists around to see Natasha standing behind him, arms crossed in front of her chest. She doesn’t offer to help Steve up any more than she offers up a smile. 

Steve sighs, picking himself up off the floor, but he doesn’t argue with Natasha. 

“What the hell has gotten into you?” she asks, no levity in her voice. 

“I don’t know,” Steve says honestly. 

“You think maybe you could figure it out?” Natasha asks, “Quickly?” 

“Nat…” Steve sighs, his shoulders slumped. 

“‘cause he thinks you’re pulling away from him. That the band is breaking up,” she says, pointing to where Tony has wandered off, “And with the way you’re acting towards him lately, I can’t blame him.” 

“What?” Steve asks, startled, “ _ No. _ ” 

“You know he doesn’t dance at those things?” Natasha says suddenly. 

“What?” Steve frowns. 

“Tony,” she stresses, “At those black tie events. I’ve seen people ask him and he always has a smooth excuse to get out of it. I’ve heard about a dance with Pepper once, but that was  _ Pepper _ . Other than that… Steve, he doesn’t do that.” 

Steve swallows, but he can’t get rid of the bad taste in his mouth. 

“So what does that mean?” Steve asks, his stomach twisting in knots. 

Natasha fixes him with a look. “You know what it means,” she says, simply. 

***

“Thank you,” Steve says softly as JARVIS opens up the workshop for him. 

“ _ Busy _ ,” Tony says from where he’s hunched over his suit, using a blow torch to fix some of the damage it sustained in the fight. The protective goggles he’s wearing hide his eyes, but Steve can imagine they’re anything but friendly. 

“I know, I - ” Steve carefully takes a few steps towards him, “I was wondering if maybe you’d have some time for me tonight? Say nine PM?” 

“What do you want, Rogers?” Tony’s voice is clipped, the use of his last name a punch to Steve’s gut. 

“I’ll explain everything tonight,” Steve says, hopeful, “If you could just - I’d really appreciate it.” 

Tony sighs as he turns off the blow torch, pushing up his goggles on his forehead. It makes his hair stick up and if Steve’s completely honest, it’s all kind of adorable. Not so much the scowl that is plastered over Tony’s face though. 

“Oh well, if  _ you _ appreciate it,” Tony calls out, his jaw set. 

“I deserve that,” Steve says with a nod, which earns him a conflicted look from Tony. “But uhm, I think you’ll want to hear me out. I hope you will, so…” 

Tony huffs, dropping the goggles back on his face. 

“Nine o’clock?” Steve asks, nervous, “At the upper deck?” 

He thinks he can see an eyebrow quirk at that, and Steve just stands there until Tony lights up his blow torch again, and mutters, “Fine.” He goes back to working on his suit, turning his back on Steve. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, before leaving Tony to his work. 

***

It’s seven after nine and Steve’s stomach feels like it’s twisting inside out. He’s wringing his hands, pacing back and forth on the balcony. It’s dark out, but the air is a pleasant temperature and there’s no wind to speak of. At least that’s some luck going Steve’s way, although none of it really matters if Tony doesn’t show up. 

Steve contemplates asking JARVIS to give Tony a reminder, even though he knows that if Tony doesn’t come it’s because he doesn’t want to be here, not because he’s forgotten. 

Steve sighs, brushes his hand over his face as he lets out a shivering breath. He screwed up. He screwed up badly and he only has himself to blame. 

“What the - ?” 

Steve turns around in a hurry, just in time to see Tony step out onto the deck and take in his surroundings. Tony’s mouth is slightly open, his eyes slowly following the little lights that are hanging up all around the balcony. Steve may have gone a little overboard with the lights - he went and got all the Christmas lights that he could find all over the Tower - but a big gesture felt necessary somehow. 

“You came,” Steve says, trying not to cringe at how lame he sounds. 

“Yeah, well…” Tony shrugs, a wary eye on the soft lights engulfing them. “You asked.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you would,” Steve admits, “After I’ve been acting like an asshole.” 

“Oh, so you’re aware of that?” Tony says, and Steve knows it’s meant as a sneer but it comes out softer than Tony probably meant to. His mouth twitches for a second, before he adds, “You made it seem important, so…” 

“Thank you,” Steve says, then clears his throat a little bit. He quickly wipes his hands - he’s nervous, they might be clammy - on his pants before he holds out one hand towards Tony. Right on cue, JARVIS starts playing the first tone of the song that Steve has picked out. “Will you dance with me?” Steve asks, his voice wavering just the tiniest bit as nerves strike. 

Tony’s face falls instantly, making Steve’s fingers twitch. He scoffs and shakes his head slightly, turning away from Steve. 

“ _ Tony! _ ” Steve calls out, bewildered. The music keeps filling the air, suddenly heavy. 

“Do you think this is funny?” Tony bites out, head snapping back towards Steve. 

“What?” Steve breathes out, his hands hanging by his side, empty. He was supposed to be holding Tony by now. 

“ _ This! _ ” Tony calls out, raising his arms as if to show Steve, “Are you just mocking me now?” 

“W-what?” Steve asks, confused. 

“I was just -  _ God _ , I don’t even know,” Tony snaps, then lets out an annoyed grunt, “Jesus, JARVIS, turn the fucking music off!” 

The music stops abruptly, JARVIS wisely not saying a word. With the music gone, all Steve can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his chest and Tony’s ragged breathing. 

“Tony,” Steve says, as softly as he can possibly muster, “I don’t know what you think I’m doing but I can promise you I’m not trying to make fun of you. I don’t know why you think - ”

“What I  _ think _ is that I just tried to go with what felt right, you know? Stupidly, in the moment. And maybe I put myself out there a little bit? But what I’m seeing is that since I did that you’re so disgusted by me that you can’t even - ” Tony spits out, angrily. 

“ _ Disgusted? _ Tony,  _ no! _ ” Steve says, his feet moving forward automatically until his hands can reach out and grab Tony’s upper arms. How can Tony think - ? “No, that’s not at all - ” Steve stammers. 

“What else am I supposed to think?” Tony asks him, his jaw clenched, his entire posture stiff. It’s a small miracle that he hasn’t shrugged off Steve’s touch yet. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” Steve sighs, ducking his head in shame. “I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I couldn’t even… I’m the worst. Tony, I - ” He takes a deep breath, gingerly removing his hands from Tony’s arms. Tony has every right to walk away if he wants to. Steve would never want him to think otherwise. “Before I went into the ice, Peggy and I, we had this thing.” 

“Yeah, I think everybody knows about the thing between you and Peggy, Steve,” Tony huffs out. 

“No, I mean… the dancing,” Steve says with a soft smile at the memory. “When everything was done, we made a date to go dancing, and it was kind of our way of saying… you know.”

“Oh,” Tony says, the anger fading a little from his face, making way for something more sympathetic. 

“We never did get that dance,” Steve says, letting out a deep breath. “Except…” he shakes his head. “I must have danced with her a million times in my dreams, Tony. Over and over again.” 

“I get it,” Tony says sadly. 

Steve dares a glance at him. “No, you don't,” Steve says, looking back down at the floor, “Because things changed. Maybe I changed. But it’s not her I’m dancing with anymore. And I didn’t know what that meant, or how I felt about it. That dance with Peggy had become something comfortable and safe. Maybe too much so. It could never actually happen, so I didn’t have to worry about it too much. I didn’t have to put myself out there, I could just stay in my own comfortable bubble, where nothing frighteningly new would ever happen.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Tony says, an understanding tone in his voice. 

“But nothing exciting ever would either,” Steve says, lifting his head to look at Tony, “Nothing thrilling or new. Nothing… to get my heart pumping again.” 

“No risk, no reward…” Tony whispers. 

“At the event, when you asked me…” Steve trails off. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, shaking his head, “I didn’t know…”

“I panicked,” Steve admits, “And I kept panicking until it was too late and you thought - well, what you thought.”

“So…” Tony asks, looking around at the whirlwind of lights around them, “What is this?” 

“This is me no longer panicking,” Steve says, the edge of his mouth rising in a tentative smile, “Well, maybe still a little bit, but I want the exciting part, the thrilling part.” Tony is looking at him, fear and hope mixed over his face. “My heart is pumping again, Tony, and it’s for you.” 

There’s a sharp inhale of breath as Tony’s eyebrows knit together and warm brown eyes regard him. Steve can hear his own heart beat furiously as he slowly raises his hand again in question. His fingers are shaking, but he doesn’t care; he holds them out within Tony’s reach and all he can do is hope. 

Time seems to freeze, a fraction of a second feels like hours as Tony’s gaze goes from Steve’s eyes towards his outstretched hand. Steve doesn’t remember how to breathe until Tony moves, his hand coming up, his fingers sliding gently over Steve’s palm, and the music quietly starts to play again. 

Steve shuffles a little bit closer, his free hand sliding carefully around Tony’s waist. Tony smiles softly, fingers moving smoothly up Steve’s arm, until they come to rest around his shoulder. Steve returns Tony’s smile, holding Tony’s hand against his chest, over his heart. It’s as if they start moving in exactly the same moment, swaying slowly to the music. Hundreds of lights are reflecting in Tony’s eyes, making them glimmer brightly as he holds Steve’s stare. 

All the times Steve has dreamed of this could never have prepared him for the actual feeling of holding Tony in his arms. It’s every bit as good, but magnified a million times. It’s reassuring and safe, but at the same time vibrant and lively. There’s a quiet hum underneath Steve’s skin where he’s touching Tony. There’s a warmth in his chest, right where Tony’s hand is protectively covering Steve’s heart. Steve only lets go of Tony’s stare as he bends his head down just enough to rest his forehead against Tony’s. They breathe in the same air, rocking to the music, bodies close and secure against each other. 

Steve isn’t entirely sure which one of them moves first, but then he’s tilting his head a little bit and his lips are brushing gingerly against Tony’s. Just a press of lips, warm and soft, nothing more, but everything. Tony hums under his breath, positioning his head against Steve’s shoulder, face pressed into Steve’s neck. Steve brings his other arm around Tony as well, holding him tightly, resting his head against Tony’s. 

“You’re sure I’m the one you wanna dance with?” Tony’s voice is barely audible, but his question is accompanied by a tighter squeeze of his arms around Steve. 

“Never been more sure,” Steve whispers, returning the hold on Tony’s body. “It’s a dream come true.” 

***

_ Fin _


End file.
